


I'm Not Okay (I Promise)

by Phanwich



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Character Death, Crying, Depression, Dreams and Nightmares, Drugs, Flashbacks, Hallucinations, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, I Made Myself Cry, I'm Sorry, LSD, M/M, Murder, Mystery, Nightmares, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Pain, Phil's gonna try and be a detective, Psychological Horror, Sad, Suffering, Suicide, The Author Regrets Everything, Unhappy Ending, Why Did I Write This?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2018-08-20
Packaged: 2019-01-28 01:27:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 24
Words: 16,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12594980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phanwich/pseuds/Phanwich
Summary: Dan never thought all his worst nightmares could come true in one day.---*Reposted from my original account*With that said, please enjoy, but be careful. This is some f*cked up sh*t you're about to read.





	1. What's Happening In The Dark?

**Author's Note:**

> Before you read a word, I want to apologize in advance. Heed the warnings. There's no excuse for this, to be honest.
> 
> This story contains alcohol, drugs, rape/non-con elements, murder, suicide and a number of other warnings. (See the tags for a more complete list.)  
> If you possess any kind of moral compass or your parents check your web history, you may want to look at some cats instead.
> 
> If not, enjoy!
> 
> *UPDATE!* This story now has a soundtrack!  
> https://open.spotify.com/user/nixie2002/playlist/2xH3bBMt4c2ZyTYLGpM84D
> 
> *UPDATE 2* This story is slowly being transitioned to third person. Starting from the chapter "A Little Bit of Light" and going on, it's third person. The earlier chapters will be changed over time.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *ALERT ALERT*  
> Suicide in this chapter  
> Caution strongly advised.

It's a cool, crisp night- the kind you want to hide from because it can only bring you pain. I notice clouds are covering the moon and stars, and I have to squint to see anything. I feel my shoe hit something, and I look in front of me. A large oak tree that wasn't here a moment ago meets my eyes, and I spin around, trying to find some bearing. What little light there was from the moon and stars is now completely obscured by thick foliage, and I swallow nervously. It's dark, I'm alone, and I'm hopelessly lost in a forest that wasn't here when I started out.

The only thing that could possibly make this whole thing worse would be for the girl from The Ring to show up.

"Knock on wood, Dan," I mutter, rapping my knuckles against the tree trunk.

"Help me!" A terrifyingly familiar voice rips through the eerily silent night air, and I know who it is- there's only one person in the world who's capable of ever making that sound.

Phil.

"Phil!" I shout, taking off towards his voice, pushing aside branches and ignoring the ones that smack and sting my face. "Where are you?"

"Dan!" Phil cries. I turn, searching for him. His voice is right beside me- where the hell is he?"

"Phil!" I scream, straining my ears, despite the only audible thing being my racing heart.

Then I see him, leaning against a tree, chest heaving in obvious pain and fear.

"Stay back!" he growls, holding out a hand as I start towards him.

"Phil, what's going on?" I ask, doing as he says.

"You were too slow," a voice sneers, forcing a shudder of fear through my body.

"Too slow," I repeat, the words making my heart beat even faster.

"Now he will die, and so will you," the unseen deity continues. My eyes widen.

"No, y-you can't k-k-kill him," I stammer.

"I will not kill Phil, Daniel," someone practically purrs in my ear. "He will kill himself, and then you will do the same." I stare in horror as Phil straightens up, taking several laborious steps towards me until we're face to face. He reaches into his back pocket and holds up a long, lethal looking knife and slowly points it just above his navel.

I don't even have to think about what to do next.

I lunge towards him, grabbing the handle, and try to wretch it from his grip, but his grasp doesn't loosen as he holds fast.

"Let go!" Phil snarls, pulling the knife from my hand and swinging at me. The blade just barely touches my cheek, and I feel a sting sensation as I fall to the ground, helpless to stop anything.

"Do you like that?" the unseen figure I'm convinced is responsible for this mess asks, and I can swear I hear the faintest trace of pride in the voice. "A paralytic, made just for you." 

"No," I whisper as Phil leans down and tilts my head towards him. For half a second, I see the fear in his bright eyes, and he's Phil again, the lion obsessed twenty eight year old that cares about everyone he meets- then it's gone, replaced by a manic glaze. Phil mouths two simple words, unable to form them in sound.

I'm sorry.

I can't move, can't stop him, can't even squeeze my eyes shut to stop the horrific sight of my best friend taking his own life.

"Phil," I whimper as he pushes the knife into himself, staining his familiar yellow and black plaid shirt a faint crimson. "Please- I'm begging you! Stop!"

"You're so selfish, Daniel," Phil hisses, pressing the weapon in further. "Wanting me to stay trapped in this... this hell with you, just so you don't have to face it alone. Isn't that right?" I can't answer as he collapses to his knees, hardly two feet away from me. I could save him, I could save him.

I could, if I could only reach out and grasp the metallic instrument that is sure to be the death of him.

"You're my best friend," I whisper, voice breaking. His scoff sends an ache straight to my heart, and he's slowly fading away right in front of my eyes.

"I am unwilling..." Phil begins, breaths ragged yet emotions still strong, "to indulge you... in your pathetic, childish whims." He coughs, and I can see the blood, bright against his pale skin. "I will not place myself... through indefinite measures of torture... for you." Phil's hands begin to shake as he coughs up more blood, and I want nothing more than to look away, but I can't. "You are not worth that."

His words hurt almost as much as watching him die, and I can do nothing but stare as he sways gently, almost playfully, and then he's lying on the ground, face next to mine, close enough to touch, so close and yet so far.

"I hate you," Phil snarls. My eyes meet his, and that's when I realize the truth.

This is my Phil once more. The one who would rather die than hurt someone and yet now stabbing me with words and emotion, the one who's terrified of death.

"Phil," I manage, gasping in a breath as I fight back tears.

"You could have saved me, had you gotten over all these silly, stupid fears of yours." His trembling hands drop the knife, and he glares at me, blood staining his face, his hands, his clothes, and the cold ground beneath us. "I hate you, Daniel Howell," he manages to get out one final time, and then his body relaxes, mouth slack and allowing the thick crimson substance to pool on the ground beside him, hands tangled together by his stomach, his blue eyes glazed over and unseeing- lifeless.

Dead.

I want to scream, or cry, something, anything- I need a sense of release. Instead, a laugh forms in my throat, and the next thing I know, I'm shuddering on the ground, tears running from my eyes.

Hysteria.

I can hardly breath now, and someone's whispering in my ears, nonsensical words I can't make out and only serve to make me laugh harder. My body convulses as I choke, unable to stop the hysterical laughter that's slowly- but surely- killing me, and I gasp, clawing at my arms in a feeble attempt to regain control.

"Stop!" I cry, pinching my hand as hard as I can, but something about the pain reignites the laughter and makes it even stronger than before, and then spots are beginning to obscure my vision. The terrifying realization finally strikes.

I'm dying.

I squeeze my eyes shut, rolling into as small a ball as I can before taking in one final, shuddering breath, and I let go.


	2. I Don't Want It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *ALERT ALERT*  
> Attempted rape/non-con elements in this chapter.  
> Caution strongly advised.

I open my eyes slowly, meeting familiar, striking blue ones.

"Good morning, Sleeping Beauty," Phil chirps. "Sleep well?" I groan in response, trying to sit up. Something yanks me back, and I instinctively fight against the restraints. "No, don't do that," Phil giggles.

"Phil," I croak, voice cracking, "what the hell are you doing?"

"Taking back what's rightfully mine," he answers, and then all hints of playfulness are gone as he continues. "You." I draw on a deep breath and shake my head.

"I'm not yours, first of all," I hiss, "and, well, not to be rude, but you're dead. I'm dead. You stabbed yourself," I explain, biting my lip. "I... choked to death." Maybe it's the sadomasochist inside of me that thinks choking wouldn't be a bad way to go, but it's the first thing I think of.

"Not at all," Phil replies. "If you were dead, could I do this?" He presses his lips to mine almost wildly- definitely roughly- and I realize for the first time I'm completely naked.

I'm taking back what's rightfully mine.

The words have a completely different meaning now, and I fight against the restraints holding me to my headboard, ignoring the cuts they're slicing into my wrists with each pull.

"No, Phil!" I try to plead, but he only kisses me harder, climbing on top of me and holding my flailing body down as I pull against the ties. I bite his bottom lip as hard as I can, and Phil yanks back, anger blazing in his blue eyes.

"What the fuck was that?" he spits. I see a single drop of blood pool on his lip, running down his chin. I swallow as the memories of his hurtful words, lifeless eyes and bloodied body return, as vivid as when I first saw it.

"Get the fuck off of me," I growl. "You do not have my consent." Phil laughs, and it's nothing like the light, airy sound I'm used to- this is merciless, ruthless, and bent out tearing me apart.

"Okay," Phil agrees. "If you can undo one button on my shirt then I'll leave you. Otherwise I get my way with you." I scoff.

"That is in no way a fair competition," I complain.

"What's wrong?" Phil asks mockingly. "Can't you do it?" He holds his arms out. "Going once. Twice. You lose."

"Phil," I plead, "stop it. You're scaring me." Phil leans down and gently kisses my cheek before standing.

"Aw, no need to be afraid," he says, a faux pout on his face. It quickly morphs into a filthy grin as he adds, "I'm going to make you feel good, Bear." I cringe at the nickname, clenching my jaw as Phil digs through my drawers, looking for something.

"What has happened to you?" I screech, fighting against my bonds as Phil finds what he's looking for- a black shoe box. "Why are you doing this?"

This is not my Phil- this is a monster, bent on breaking me apart, piece by piece.

"Well," Phil begins, "if I recall correctly, you were passed out on your bed, jeans falling off your arse like always, shirt halfway off, looking so, so beautiful- so submissive." He licks his lips. "Are you going to be good for me?"

"Fuck you," I hiss. Phil seems unfazed as he opens the box.

"I'd rather fuck you, to be honest," he replies, holding up a up a gag. I stare at it, unwilling to believe that this is what he wants, that this is what he's here for. "Are you going to be a good little cockslut bottom- the whore we both know you are?" I rip my eyes away from him, trying to hide my blush. There is no covering up any arousal today, not when Phil has my entire body on display for his eyes to look over whenever he wants.

"Only when hell freezes over," I answer, unable to hold my tongue.

"You act like you're not interested," Phil growls, setting the box down and climbing back on top of me, ignoring my obvious distaste to his weight. He runs his hand gently over my face and down my neck, smirking when I shudder.

"Because I'm not," I answer, steeling my voice. "I'm No Homo-Howell, remember?" Phil scoffs, leaning down so his lips are just barely brushing my ear.

"Do you really think I can't hear you?" he whispers. "The walls aren't that thick, and you're very... vocal. You think I can't hear you moaning my name, your stuttering voice whining and cursing? Naughty, really," he adds before pulling back. "I can only imagine the things you were doing to yourself to pull those noises from your pretty little lips." I shiver, shaking my head, eyes wide.

"I-I don't know what you're talking about," I deny.

"Oh, I think you do," Phil says, his voice smooth and thick. "Do you get off thinking about me? Cum with a muffled scream of my name?" He leans in close, nose touching mine. "Do you want me, Dan?"

"N-no," I stammer. "N-not like t-t-this."

"You're a liar," Phil accuses, "but that's alright. I'll get you to admit it eventually."

"What do you mean?" I ask, a sneaking suspicion in my mind. Phil hums softly, reaching back into the box and pulling out a knife. Suddenly we're back in the forest, and he's stabbing himself, collapsing, dying. "No, Phil, put it down," I beg.

“So you don't want me, then?” Phil muses. “Alright.” He drags the tip of the knife from behind me ear, across my neck, tracing a long thin cut down to my sternum. I bite my lip to stifle a whine, and Phil grins. “Are you ready to admit?”

“I'll die before I give you the satisfaction of breaking me, Phil Lester,” I snarl. Phil seems to contemplate this for a second, and for a moment I think he'll let me go. Then a mad, manic, crazed look enters his eyes- even more so than before.

“Okay,” he says cheerfully before raising the knife above me. It doesn't take me long to figure out what he's about to do, and I try to shy away from him, the restraints keeping me firmly in place.

The last thing I see is a horrified look on Phil's face as he brings the weapon down into my chest. There's a sharp pain, but it quickly fades.

Then there's nothing.


	3. Difficult Choices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *ALERT ALERT*  
> More suicide  
> Caution still advised.

I gasp, opening my eyes. There's no sign of blood on my clothes or body- no evidence of the earlier events except my memories. Breathing deeply through my nose, I force myself to look around.

I'm sitting in a wooden chair in the midst of a concrete room. Against one wall is a table with two clear glasses on it, each filled with a liquid of some sort. Slowly, I stand on shaky legs, bracing myself for whatever hell-version of Phil materialises.

"Surprise," his voice calls from behind me, void of any emotion. I jump, turning to face him, and he steps out of the shadows. To say he looks terrible is a gross understatement.

His blue eyes, once bright, are now like broken Christmas lights. His hair, usually thick and neat, is sticking up, and he's been pulling at it. His clothes are wrinkled and torn. His skin, typically glowing healthily and pale in a strikingly attractive way, is sallow and bruised.

He doesn't just look bad, he looks miserable- tortured, even.

"What happened to you?" I ask, covering my mouth in shock.

"None of your business!" he answers harshly, glaring at me. "You've caused me a lot of problems, Daniel Howell," he announces as he walks towards the table. Each step appears to take him tremendous effort, and he's breathing laboriously.

"What about the ones you've caused me?" I demand, crossing my arms. It's childish, I know, but I can't help it. "Who are you now? Terminally Ill Phil?" He doesn't reply, but turns and sits on the table. "First, you kill yourself, then you try to rape me and kill me when I say no. Please, for-"

"What," Phil begins slowly, "the fuck are you talking about?"

"You did the last time!" I cry, leaning against the wall. "Do you really not remember any of it?" Phil blinks several times, and suddenly his body goes rigid. He slides off the table, his head connecting with the ground as he curls up in obvious pain. "Phil!" I shout, and for a moment- just a moment- that's exactly who he is. Phil Lester, my best friend, loving and caring and gentle and sweet, seemingly innocent and yet not at all, who would gladly die to save someone else- this is him, this who I swore my life to, who I promised to protect.

And in the blink of an eye- just like that- he's gone, replaced by the maniac I don't know.

"What to play a game, Dan?" Phil asks sweetly, but the malicious grin on his face reveals his true intentions. I swallow hard, shaking my head. "Don't be afraid, love- it doesn't get you out."

"I'm not afraid," I answer truthfully. I'm not afraid of him- I'm fucking terrified.

"Then come play," Phil coaxes. He's nowhere near me, but someone I can't see grabs my wrist and directs me towards him. "Good boy."

"Shut the hell up or I'll end you," I snarl. In my wildest dreams, in my angriest moments, never would I speak to Phil this way, but this is not Phil- it's a ghost, using his body, speaking with his voice, but not using his words, because never would Phil speak to me- or anyone else- in the way he is.

"Pick a glass," he instructs, gesturing to the cups of liquid. I regard them with suspicion.

"Why?" I ask.

"Pick one," Phil repeats, an edge of impatience in his voice. I've never heard it in the eight years we've known each other, and it startles me. I do as he says, and Phil takes the other. "Are you brave enough for this, Daniel?" I raise an eyebrow. "There are only two possibilities here- you have the poison, or I do. If I do, you walk away, unharmed, happily ever after, freedom, yay, blah blah blah."

"And if I have it?" I ask, staring at the liquid. It's vibrant blue, but so is Phil's. He smirks.

"Well," he laughs, "you and I get to have a lot more fun together, don't we?" I start to object, but he cuts me off. "What if you refuse, I know. You can, under technicality, but you'll be stuck here until you make a choice. Or..." His body is racked with pain, and some of the liquid sloshes from his glass to the ground. He gasps, and it's Phil- really him.

"You can kill him," an unseen power offers. A gun appears on the table, presumably loaded. "Kill him, and you can leave. You'll suffer the guilt, but you'll be free. Or, you can take the fifty-fifty chance and drink. Choose, Daniel." I look at Phil, who's shaking in fear, his eyes wide. Kill Phil and escape this nightmare, possibly permanently killing my best friend and half of myself, or risk continuing down this road of torment and misery, in which we both might die anyway. One will destroy me, but leave me alive, while the other will likely end not only my own life, but also my best friend's. It won't just kill us though- it will force us both into situations that will end our sanity. 

It's not a choice.

I pick up the gun and flip off the safety switch. 

"I'm sorry," I whisper, noting his shocked expression.

"Please, Daniel," he begs. "Don't do this. I don't know what's happening, but God, don't kill me. I'm begging you." 

"I'm sorry," I repeat. His eyes widen as he catches my repeated words, and I can see thst they have a new meaning to him. He starts towards me, but invisible bonds keeps him back. He really does know me too well. "No, Daniel," Phil starts, panic creeping up his voice. "Don't you fucking dare! Don't you fucking dare do this, goddamn it!" 

"Good bye, Phil," I say, cocking the gun.

I bring the barrel to my temple and fire.


	4. Mute Horror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *ALERT ALERT*
> 
> Murder!
> 
> Caution advised.
> 
> (Is this annoying? I don't know I just don't want to be blamed for triggering anyone okay)

There's no time to regret my choice- the second my eyes open, Phil is there, already in his manic state.

"Silly boy," he chides. "Sentimental, loyal, clever and yet so fucking dumb all at once." I groan, resting my throbbing head against the wall behind me. "I'd have been just fine- you knew that-and yet, you couldn't kill me, couldn't summon the courage. You opted to kill yourself... over me. What a weak willed, silly, absolutely moronic person you are, Daniel."

"You'd have done the same for me, if you were actually you," I mumble, my words slurring together. "So far I've met Suicidal Phil, Rapist Phil, and whatever the hell that last one was. So, which version of my friend are you now?"

"Can't you tell?" Phil asks, kneeling in front of me and catching my chin in his hand. I don't have the strength to pull away, though- my head is fuzzy, and it takes effort to just look directly into his hollow blue eyes. 

"Not quite," I answer, flinching slightly when he runs his thumb over my bottom lip. "No, stop it."

"Well, pretty boy, you'll figure it out eventually, I'm sure," Phil whispers. I shift my body slightly, pulling my legs closer as the world flickers.

"What- what's happening?" I ask, blinking rapidly. The flickering stops, and slowly the pain in my head goes away. My vision becomes sharper, and the fatigued feeling that's clinging to my body like a physical presence lifts.

"What do you mean?" Phil asks, seeming genuinely confused by my question.

"I-" I begin, but stop, thinking better of it. "Never mind." Phil shrugs, clearly unalarmed, and he stands.

"Let me ask you a question, Daniel Howell," he says casually, pacing the dark empty room as he speaks. "How much do you love your family?"

"What kind of question is that?" I snap, some of the anger returning.

"Oh, is some of the fire coming back to your bones?" Phil asks. "Are you ready to fight? Good, good- I enjoy a good fight, but I'll beat it out of you." My Phil hates conflict- he's passive, preferring to let people walk over him rather than risk offending them. "See, I only ask because..." He snaps his fingers, and a light flips on. I gasp, unable to hide my horror.

My mother, father and brother, each gagged and tied to their chair.

"Let them go!" I demand. I start to stand, but chains around my wrists and ankles keep Phil just out of my reach- and that's just as well, because if I could, I would strangle him without hesitation. "I said let them fucking go! That's my family, you monster! That's my goddamn family!"

"I well aware, love," Phil sighs. "Please, do stop shouting or I'll gag you." The memory of Phil taunting me, holding up a gag as I lie splayed out on his bed like a butterfly pinned to a board is still fresh enough to make me sick, and I do as I'm told. "Such an obedient little boy, aren't you?" he practically purrs. I flip him off immediately, unwilling to let him walk over me like a doormat.

"Fuck you, Philip Lester," I snarl, pulling against my restraints.

"Maybe not so obedient, but even the wildest stallion can be broken," he murmurs. He reaches into his back pocket, pulling out a gleaming metal gun. My heart stops as he points it in turn at each member of my family, eerily calm. His hands are steady, his finger poised above the trigger. "Which one, Dan?" I can't speak, can't breathe.

He can't, he won't, he's bluffing, it's a scare tatic and nothing more.

"I asked you a question!" Phil shouts, casting a glance at me over his shoulder. 

He's not, he will, the threat is genuine and he will do it.

"I- I don't-" The words die in my throat as I see the fear- unadulterated, genuine fear- in each member of my family's eyes. I can't. This is my family. To name one would be as bad as pulling the trigger myself.

"Tick tock," Phil sings, shifting the gun from my brother to my mother.

"Phil, you can't!" I beg. "Please, just let them go!"

"Refuse to choose, do you?" Phil sneers. He smirks at me before cocking the gun and firing, and I scream as the gunshot echoes through the air. "One down, two left. Will it be father or brother, Daniel?" I can't speak, staring in silence at my mother's body. Her head is lolling to the side at a sickening angle, and her clothes are stained with crimson blood. My stomach spasms, but there's nothing to come up, ans I collapse to my knees as I dry heave onto the concrete floor.

This wasn't supposed to happen- Phil is supposed to be attacking me! I thought I could handle it, but systematically killing the people I love most... It's more effective and shattering my spirit than anything else he's done, and he knows it, the sick bastard.

"Still indecisive?" Phil taunts, pointing the gun at my father. He cocks and shoots, and I groan, holding my head in my hands as I rock back and forth.

No no no no no.

"I guess this leaves Adrian." There's another gunshot, and I let out the sob that's been building in my chest. It threatens to tear me apart from the inside out, and that seems like a welcome alternative to what's just happened. Something cold and metallic presses against the back of my head, and I freeze.

"And then there were none," Phil whispers in my ear. He places a gentle- far too gentle- kiss on my temple before pulling back.

Click.

Boom.


	5. My Ex-girlfriend Is A Jealous Twat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *ALERT ALERT*  
> I actually don't think there's any for this chapter...
> 
> Huh.

There are tears in my eyes when I force them open. Phil and I, at least, seem to be immortal- or, at the very least, able to resurrect. Normally I would make some kind of Jesus joke, but all I can do is pray to whatever holy deities might be listening that it's the same for my parents and brother. I stand, cold fury coursing through my veins.

"This is war, you motherfucker," I mutter under my breath. There's giggling, high pitched and distorted. Somewhere, there's the pattering of feet as someone runs. "Where are you, Philly?" I shout, looking around. "What, are you done already? Hell, this little game of ours is just getting started!"

"Dan?" a soft, distinctly feminine voice says. I feel the blood drain from my face as I turn towards it's owner- a young woman with long auburn hair. Her delicate features are contorted in concern, but otherwise, she's beautiful. I swallow hard, forcing my eyes to avert from her piercing green ones.

I've fallen for her before. I can't afford to do it again.

"Lily," I whisper. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm not sure," she answers, looking around. "Where's 'here,' exactly?"

"Well, that's the question, isn't it?" I muse, shoving my hands in my pockets. I steal a glance at Lily, who's watching me almost distrustfully.

She's a danger in a different way than Phil. Whereas he's straightforward and aims to break me down mentally and physically, she knows things about me that could destroy everything I've ever worked for. Phil's games are momentary. Lily's could last a lifetime, if she chooses to play her cards.

After all, hell hath no fury like a woman's scorn.

I swallow nervously, rapping my knuckles against the wall.

"You coming out?" I call. There's more giggling, but it's lower now- a man, but not just any man. That'd be too much to ask, wouldn't it? "Come on, Phil. We haven't got all day."

"Phil?" Lily asks, frowning. I freeze.

Oh, shit.

"I- um," I stammer, and her eyes harden. "No, Lil-"

"Who the hell is Phil?" she demands. I step back quickly, putting my hands up. "Is he the one?"

Fuck, fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. Fuck!

Of course she would put two and two together! How could I have been stupid enough to think that she wouldn't be like everyone else alive and mistake Phil and I for a couple?

"Is that the boy you left me for?" Lily asks coldly.

"No, Phil and I never-" I begin, but she cuts me off.

"Shit, Dan!" she scoffs, wiping her eyes. "Is this why I'm here? So you can gloat about how much happier you are with him than me?"

"Happier?" I repeat, the events of the past however long coming to mind.

"Fuck you, Daniel James Howell," Lily spits. "I hope he's everything you've ever wanted. Have fun taking him up your arse."

"Wait!" I cry, but she doesn't listen, stepping into the shadows.

Of course not- why should she? I'm the one who slept with her, the one who broke up with her after promising to love her forever. She has every right to be angry, and every right to ruin me.

I run after her, but it's too late- she's gone, vanished into thin air.

"Can everyone except me do the ghost act?" I growl, grinding my teeth together. "Fuck!"

"Well," comes an all too familiar voice from behind me, "that didn't go too well at all for you, now did it?" I turn, and Phil's leaning against the wall. All rational thought flies out the window at the sight of him, and I pin him there, my arm against his windpipe. "Now this," he says with a smirk, gasping slightly as I press harder, "this is interesting."

"I'm done playing all your games, Lester," I hiss. "You've hurt me too much today."

"Have I?" Phil asks, his nails digging into my arm. "You're a strong person, Daniel- we both know that- but was this pain?" My grip loosens slightly in my confusion, and he stops clawing at me, his fingers resting against my wrist, light as snowflakes. "Pain, my love, is relative. Things only hurt if you let them. Wouldn't you like it if you could just... let go? Rid yourself of all thesr messy little emotions?" It's a tempting offer, honestly, but I don't truly believe he can do it.

Unfortunately, those seconds of hesitation are all it takes for him to flip the tables, and I cry out in pain as my head slams against the wall.

"Oh, you pretty little thing," Phil breathes as I try to pull my wrists free from his surprisingly vice-like grip. "Look at you, thinking you're stronger than me." His hold tightens even more- if possible- and I whimper.

"Stop it," I beg. "Phil, please- stop all of this." Phil chuckles softly, the corner of his mouth turning up in a terrifying smirk.

"Now, this, I like," he tells me. He leans forward, speaking quietly into my ear. "Dan Howell, the stubborn and arrogant fool, begging for mercy, pleading for compassion." His breath is hot against my skin, and I shiver involuntarily.

"How are you going to do it this time?" I ask.

"I don't think I really need to do much of anything right now," Phil replies. "Do you?" There's the tiniest shift, and I freeze, my heart both stopping and racing all at once.

His lips- fuck, his lips- are brushing the skin just beneath my ear.

"P-Phil," I manage, swallowing hard. He hears the way my breath hitches- he must, because I feel the way his lips curl even more at my voice. "Please, I-I-"

"You like this," he observes, and I hear the danger, but I can't think. He places gentle, feathery kisses down my neck, and I can't silence the low moan that escapes my lips. "So pretty," Phil murmurs, running his tongue along the side of my neck before sucking a bruise into the skin.

"Fuck, Phil," I whine, my head falling back. It feels so incredibly good and yet so wrong, but I don't quite want him to stop. Phil pulls back, and I bite my tongue to keep from whining at the loss of contact.

"I'll give you what you want, doll," he whispers.

And then his mouth is on mine, silencing my protests, and I can't think.


	6. Reignite My Burned Bridges

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *ALERT ALERT*
> 
> Non-graphic (but still) Rape/Non-con elements in this chapter!
> 
> Caution advised.

My head spins as Phil uses his hold on my wrists to maneuver me towards a simple four poster bed that wasn't there a minute ago. His lips leave mine just long enough for him to remove my shirt, and I shiver as he shoves me to the mattress. Phil kisses me harder, a hungry, almost animalistic sense of lust in it. One of his hands releases my wrist, moving down my body and starting at the clasp of my jeans. Apprehension fills me as I feel his fingers brush my stomach.

"Stop," I try to say, but I can't form the word properly with his tongue against mine and his lips inhibiting my own, the force of his mouth keeping my lips parted. Panic begins to bubble up inside me, and I twist in an effort to get him off. He doesn't move, though, and I reach up and grab his hair with my free hand, pulling him back. "Stop," I beg, trying to push him off.

"No, no no no no," Phil laughs, wrapping his fingers around my neck and pushing down, forcing me to draw in a shaky breath. "You don't get to lull me in and then act like you don't want it, doll. Don't you like this, you little slut?"

"I-I don't," I gasp out, but he doesn't reply, pulling off my jeans and dropping them to the floor. I squirm uncomfortably as he singlehandedly unbuttons his own shirt and trousers, and I feel sick.

He can't.

"Phil, pl-" I begin, but he applies more pressure to my windpipe and my voice cuts out as I desperately try to breathe, drawing in shaky breathes that can't- and don't- satisfy my needs. He somehow manages to pull off his jeans and kicks them off before pulling off my boxers. "Stop!" Tears fill my eyes as he removes his own, licking his lips greedily.

It isn't him, I know, but my mind is slowly rewriting my perception of Phil- who he is in relation to me and how he makes me feel.

How does he make me feel?

Absolutely fucking terrified.

Shit, I can't handle much more of this bloody nightmare.

Sex with Phil would be bad enough, but with this maniacal freak possessing his body? It would be a million times worse, and while I escaped once, he's not likely to let me do it again.

"Beautiful," Phil breathes, his blue eyes quickly taking in my body. I swallow hard, digging my nails into his wrist. There's blood under my nails when I pull back, but his hold hasn't slackened in the slightest. In fact, he hardly seems to notice the wounds I've inflicted.

What the fucking hell is going on?

I don't have time to ponder that question, though, because Phil cards a hand through my hair and roughly forces me onto my hands and knees before shoving my face into the mattress. I cry out, turning slightly to the left and gasping for air.

"Phil!" I beg as he grips my wrists tightly.

"Do you want it hard, Daniel?" he asks, rolling his hips into my arse. I can't fathom that this is actually happening this time. The erection he's pressing against my skin is his way of letting me know exactly what he plans to do, and his way of reminding me he can- and will- take me easily when he wants to.

"N-no," I gasp out, trying to will my shaking arms to stay still. "Phil, don't do this!" He doesn't reply, placing teasing kisses down my spine as he keeps me pinned down.

"Hush now, my love," he tells me quietly, and then he pushes into me. I scream a slew of swear words as he begins moving, and he digs his nails into my skin. "Oh, goddamn," he groans. "You feel so fucking good."

"Fuck, Phil!" I shout, tears now falling freely down my cheeks. "Stop! It hurts!" It does hurt- more than I thought it would- but he doesn't care. Why would he? There's nothing stopping him- I certainly can't. 

I'm powerless, at the mercy of a man who has none to give.

The world flickers again, just for a second. The literal pain in my arse that is Phil lets up slightly, enough that I can blink back tears and force myself to focus on the images I see rather than the burning sensation in my calves and bum.

A coffee table. Sterile white walls. A brown sofa- our sofa. A screen. A flash of green. A snatch of black and red being covered by black. A snippet of grey.

Everything begins to blur together, and I shriek as I feel myself fall into a void of seemingly endless darkness.

And. I. Can't. Think.

~~~

When I open my eyes next, there's nothing to see- not really. The world is a shadowy, muted place with few defined edges.

"Hello?" I call- or, I would, but my voice fails me. There's indistinct sounds surrounding me, and I try to pick them out.

Phil's voice is among them.

His tone is gentle and worried, though. It's soft and delicate and soothing and controlled and natural and comforting, the way it should sound.

He sounds like... himself.

I force myself to focus on his words. There's a second voice as well.

"...be alright?"

"If... be, yes."

"When will... up?"

"...never... be soon."

"...want Dan... my friend back."

"All we... hope and pray..."

I'm only grasping bits and pieces, but is it possible I'm dead?

The thought is strangely comforting. After what feels like years of painful deaths only to be dragged to a new layer of hell, death- proper death, that is- is certainly a welcome change in my crazy experience.

I let the voices wash over me gladly.

~~~

"Will be be alright?"

"If his steady vitals are any indication, he will be, yes."

"When will he wake up?"

"I never promise a time or date, but it should be soon. It's been twelve hours already."

"I want Dan to be alright. I just want my friend back."

"All we can do is wait, Mr. Lester. He likely will, but still- hope and pray he comes back whole."


	7. Sing For Absolution (Bonus)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I needed an extra 600 words to hit my goal today. Admit it, you want to know what the hell is going on with Phil, and what's up with Dan.
> 
> So enjoy this lil' bonus chapter.
> 
> (And yes, it meant to be blurry and confusing, to demonstrate how Phil perceived the events. Everything will be explained in full by the time the story ends. I promise. ^-^)
> 
> Thanks, Muse, for the title of this chapter, even though it kind of has nothing to do with the content.

Phil is laughing at some ridiculous joke when he hears the cry. He turns just in time to see it's cause.

Dan, stumbling towards a chair, only to collapse suddenly, his head striking the corner of the table.

"Oh, my God!"

Phil doesn't know who says it- or care- but it accurately sums up his own thoughts.

"Shit," he moans, rushing over to Dan's side. He expects Dan to laugh it off, to make some kind of joke about checking that gravity is still working, but that's not what happens.

Phil feels sick- like he might faint himself.

"Dan!" he cries, shaking the younger boy. Dan doesn't move, his head falling limply to the side. Phil stares, biting his lip hard enough that he taste blood. Dan's chest hardly rises with each breath- this can't be good. Somewhere someone says something to Phil, but he can't think.

This isn't supposed to happen...

...but what exactly is this?

"Call 999!" The words ring loud and clear through Phil's murky thoughts, and he fumbles for his phone.

"You're going to be alright," he whispers to Dan, gently brushing the younger boy's hair from his eyes. Dan doesn't respond, his eyelids fluttering just slightly. "Just hang on."

Somehow, Phil manages to dial the blessedly simple number, and he tries to communicate what he knows as clearly as he can. The room is deathly silent.

Phil really hopes that's not a bad omen.

"Is he drunk?"

No, Phil doesn't think so. He's known Dan to down a few too many from time to time, but never to risk passing out.

Besides, that wouldn't explain why Dan's hardly breathing, or at least Phil doesn't think ot would. He can't remember the symptoms of alcohol poisoning to fact check it in his head, though, so it's entirely possible that Dan did get out of hand this round. 

Phil highly doubts it, though.

Phil takes his hand, gently stroking it slowly, trying to keep Dan- and himself- calm.

He'd be lying if he tried to pass this off as a purely selfless act.

No, with each gentle throb in Dan's palm, Phil is reassuring himself that Dan is fact still alive, that he will be just fine.

Suddenly Dan gasps, his back arching off the ground. Phil cries out in surprise, and it takes a moment for him to connect the awful sound in the air to it's owner.

It's Dan...

...screaming.

Phil doesn't know what to do. Dan's body spasms, his nails digging into his palm and Phil's hand as he screeches, the sound inhuman and tortured.

It's the sound of pure misery, and Phil can't fathom what's making Dan shriek this way.

All Phil knows is that it's threatening to drive him to the brink of insanity, to rip him apart and send him straight to madness.

And then it's silent once more, and Dan's body goes limp. Phil thinks he stops breathing a few times, but he's not sure.

He's not sure about anything, not really.

And that is most certainly not a good omen.

By the time paramedics arrive, Phil's in hysterics. Someone tries to lead him away, but he grips onto Dan's hand like it's a lifeline. He doesn't give a damn about how it looks from the outside as someone pries his fingers away, as strong hands wrap around his arms and forcibly carry him away from Dan as he kicks and screams.

There's something wrong with the most important person in his world and that's enough to justify his actions, at least in Phil's mind.

Of course, he's not really sure what he's thinking, or if he really is.

All Phil can do is fight the monsters separating him from Daniel.

They're not real monsters, not really, but they're keeping Phil restrained and out of the way while others are touching Dan, moving him, speaking to him, and that's enough for Phil.

He decides right then that he's going to get to Dan, or die trying.

There's no other option.


	8. Breathe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I'm trying to sort out the remainder of the plot and everything so...
> 
> This happened?
> 
> Ugh, it's going to go back to Dan's point of view, I swear. I just like exploring how everyone else sees this, and it gives a bit of background information. See if you can guess what's happened/happening before I tell you. :P

Chris swallows nervously as he watches Phil pace back and forth restlessly. He hasn't stopped since they let him in, and he doesn't seem like he will.

"Hey," PJ says quietly, touching Phil's shoulder. "He's going to be fine."

"Dan's too stubborn to die," Chris adds jokingly. The withering looks he receives instantly tells him he said exactly the wrong thing, and Chris silently curses his tendency to put his foot in his mouth. "It's going to be alright, Philly- promise," he says gently.

"And if it's not?" Phil whimpers, finally stopping. His blue eyes are rimmed with red from crying, and his hands shake despite his death grip on the hem of his shirt. He gives a sharp little laugh, the sound humourless and dry. "If he dies because of this one little mistake?"

Chris can't deny it- Phil looks absolutely, terrifyingly insane in this moment.

Not that he can blame him- Chris is pretty sure he'd be breaking things or demanding answers, if he were in Phil's position. The older boy is handling himself surprisingly well, actually.

"He's not going to," PJ repeats, standing from his chair. His curls are snagged and tangled from where he's ran his hands through them, and he looks exhausted.

They all are- no one's slept since they've arrived.

First, there was the party. Louise, PJ and Chris had been chatting over a couple drinks when Dan had collapsed. It had been PJ and Chris that had dragged Phil away from him when the paramedics had arrived, and it'd taken the help of Tom and Joe to keep him there.

Chris can still feel where Phil's elbow connected with his side, and PJ has a bit of a bruise on the bridge of his nose from when Phil threw his head back.

It had taken a solid fifteen minutes to calm Phil down enough that they could let him go. By then, Dan was gone, and no one could quite comprehend what had just happened. Weren't things like this supposed to be slow motion? 

To Chris, it's a blur, a mess of images and sounds he can't make sense of. He'll probably never quite understand the events that led up to this.

He wonders how it looks to Dan.

Oh, God- Dan.

The younger boy looks absolutely terrible. His skin is pale and shining with sweat, but even from here Chris can see he's shivering.

And the screaming.

It doesn't happen often, but when it does, it feels like someone just embedded a knife through Chris' very soul. PJ tenses and bites his lip, and Chris covers his ears in a vain attempt to block out the torment.

Phil doesn't react at all.

The first time he did. Chris saw it- how he tensed as Dan's nails dug into his skin. Chris can see the marks even now. The next few times he jumped, quickly making sure everything was as alright as it could be.

Now, he hardly looks at him. Even as Dan shrieks in misery, Phil stares blankly, like he doesn't hear it. Maybe he doesn't. Chris can't tell what's going on in his head.

He can't tell what's going on in Daniel's mind either, and frankly, he doesn't want to know. It must be nightmarish for him to produce those sounds through the haze of unconsciousness.

No, it can't be pretty.

"Phil!"

The cry takes everyone by surprise, and this time Phil doesn't ignore it. He stares at Chris in shock, and Chris turns to PJ, who looks as confused as everyone else.

"You heard-?" Phil stammers out. Chris nods, and he looks at PJ. "Did you-?"

"I didn't say it," PJ answers. Slowly, Phil turns towards Dan.

His eyes are still closed, his hands gripping the sheets on his hospital bed tightly. He's breathing quickly and shallowly, and on occasion, his body twists and his head falls to the side.

"Shit," Chris breathes, resting his head in his hands. PJ lets out an audible breath as he collapses back in the chair beside him.

It was his voice. Chris has heard that voice say that name a hundred million times. Yes, he's heard Dan say Phil's name in so many different ways over the years, but never like... that.

The way he said it, it was almost like he was... afraid of him. Like he was begging for mercy.

Phil hears it, too.

"Phil, please! Stop it!"

The words are slurred and confused, but Phil knows what he heard.

He doesn't like it.

Oh, God, he doesn't like it.

What is Dan seeing? What on Earth is he experiencing that has him begging Phil to stop like that?

It's not a joking little "stop" like Phil's heard before. It's not the same one he gets when he makes a bad joke or accidental innuendo.

This is fearful- absolute, pure, unadulterated fear.

Phil has no idea why, and he's not entirely sure he wants to find out.


	9. I Tripped On What?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey hey no warnings here.
> 
> Wait, there's referenced drug usage. That's it.
> 
> Okay yeah I couldn't have ONE CHAPTER without something, right?
> 
> Phanwich warnings: sh*t writing and an element of creative license because I have no idea how hospitals in the UK work because I'm from Texas. Yeehaw.

When my eyes open, they're assaulted by bright light. I groan, closing my eyes to shield them from the agonising white.

If this is heaven, with all it's "beautiful white light," then everyone lied when they said it would be painless, because this shit hurts.

Oh, who am I kidding? God always did hate me.

I go to lift my arm and cover my face, but it doesn't move. Instantly, panic floods through me as my eyes snap open, all discomfort forgotten as I realise the truth.

I'm not dead.

If I'm not dead, then I can be forced through more- and worse- things.

A bubble of anxiety builds in my chest, and I force it back as I try to pull myself free. Thick straps around my waist and wrists keep me down against a metal bed, and I can feel them around my ankles as well.

"Dan!"

The voice gets my attention. I turn towards it, and I almost sob with relief.

Christopher Kendall. What a sight for sore eyes- literally.

"Chris," I croak, "help." His brown eyes are worried, and he shifts in his seat uncomfortably. Like he's afraid of doing something wrong.

"What do you need?" he asks quietly.

"Get me out of these," I beg, pulling at my restraints. "Before he gets here, please." Chris' face contorts in confusion.

"Before who gets here?" he asks, ignoring my request.

"Phil," I gasp out. I almost choke on his name, and Chris visibly flinches.

Why would he react that way?

"You can go ahe- Daniel!" another voice cries. I take in PJ Ligouri, and then I see the figure behind him.

Tall. Dark haired. Pale skinned. Blue eyes like broken Christmas lights once more. Indents and scrapes on his hands from my nails.

Phil.

It's then that I notice the bruise across the bridge of PJ's nose, and the way Chris holds himself as if in pain. The way Chris reacted when I said Phil's name, it makes sense.

He got them, too.

"Daniel," Phil says tiredly. I swallow hard as he comes around, his fingers gently trailing down my arm and squeezing my hand.

"Don't," I whisper. He immediately lets go, and I frown.

"Are you in pain, Bear?" he asks, sounding worried. "Are you hurt?"

Am I hurt? Abso-fucking-lutely, but not physically.

Physical pain would be welcome in exchange for what I'm feeling, though.

"H-how will you do it this time?" I ask, hating the way my voice quivers. Chris draws in an audible breath as PJ sinks silently into a chair. Phil grips the bed tightly, looking sick. "What horrors does this round hold?"

"Dan, I don't-" Phil begins, his body tensing. "I wouldn't- I don't understand."

He doesn't know. Oh, shit- he doesn't know what he's done this time.

"You c-can't kill me and then act l-like it never hap- never happened," I choke out. The tension level cranks up about fifty levels- I feel it. "Did you- did you do it to them, too?"

"Dan," PJ says quietly, "you never died." I turn towards him, confused.

"I did," I argue. "H-he killed me at least four times. A-and my family- are they-?"

"I just spoke with your mother," Phil says, pinching the bridge of his nose like he has a headache. "PJ was with me- I just got off the phone with her, and she's just fine. Your dad, too."

"That they are," PJ confirms. I let out a sigh of relief.

"You gave us a serious scare," Chris tells me. "Shit, how many pints did you down, mate?"

"Pints?" I ask, frowning. "I haven't had anything to drink." Phil opens his mouth to speak, but the door opens, and a man in a white lab coat enters.

"Oh, you're awake," he says, sounding slightly disappointed. Phil stiffens as the man pulls up a stool and sits down. "Daniel James Howell?"

"That's- that's me," I answer. "Who-"

"Doctor Collins," he introduces, looking at me over his glasses. "I have your lab reports, but since you're awake now, I suppose I have to tell you the unpleasant story." He sets a stack of papers on a table. "Would you like for your... friends to leave?" He says the word 'friends' almost distastefully, and I decide right then I don't want to be alone with this man.

"N-no," I answer. "They can stay." Phil relaxes a bit. "What's the unpleasant story?" I really don't want to know, but it seems like valuable information.

"On September 30th- last night," Doctor Collins clarifies at my look of confusion, "a 999 call was received from a Philip Lester. Paramedics arrived on the scene to find an unconscious man of about twenty six- yourself. We're not entirely sure what happened, but your respiratory rate was dangerously low, while your blood pressure, body temperature and pulse rate were elevated."

"What?" I ask. "I don't-"

"You were brought here immediately and evaluated. These young men have hardly left your side since," he adds, giving Phil a strange look.

"But what-"

"We have the test results back," he continues, speaking over me as if I said nothing, "and I must confess I'm quite perplexed. You have no history with any of these things, say your friends, but there they are, clear as day."

"Just tell us the results," PJ says, sounding pained. "Did they come back positive again or not?"

"They did," the doctor confirms.

"What came back positive for what?" I ask.

"We ran drug screenings," he explains. "As I said, we weren't sure what was wrong, and it is our policy to do so when a patient comes into our care."

"And?" I ask, beginning to get frustrated.

"The first time," Phil says quietly, "they came back positive for LSD and another unidentified drug, along with a blood alcohol concentration of 0.12."

"What?" I demand. "No, that-"

"I know," Chris tells me.

"We begged them to run the tests again," PJ says. "They did. I assume these are the results."

"Exactly the same," the doctor confirms, glancing at the paper. "We still have no idea what the second drug is or was, but we think it might have been related to phencyclidine."

"PCP," PJ translates. "Angel dust."

"We have no way of telling what you've experienced over the past twelve hours," Doctor Collins says. "It's very likely, though, that you had what LSD users refer to as a 'bad trip.' This one, though, would have likely been worse than the typical, as it was all in your head."

All in your head.

The words seem to ring through the room.

All in your head.

"So it wasn't-" I begin. Phil swallows nervously, his fingers tapping on the edge of my bed.

"No, Daniel," he whispers. "None of it was real."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Notes and Definitions*
> 
> *Blood alcohol concentration (or BAC) is a way of measuring the amount of alcohol in a person's body, in relation to their blood volume.  
> The legal limit in the state of Texas is 0.08, and at 0.12, Dan would have been considered legally intoxicated here.  
> Four drinks would give a 140 pound person a BAC of 0.13.
> 
> *Lysergic acid diethylamide, or LSD (also called "acid"), is a hallucinogenic drug.  
> It can injected, placed under the tongue, or swallowed.  
> During a bad trip, LSD can cause the user to experience severe anxiety, panic attacks, paranoia, rapidly changing emotions, a feeling of detachment from one’s own mind and body, the feeling of losing a grip on reality, fear of dying, aggressive or violent behaviors, or suicidal thoughts.
> 
> *Phencyclidine, or PCP (also called "angel dust"), is a dissociative sedative drug. PCP comes in many forms including white powder, crystal, capsules, tablets and liquid.  
> The effects may last for as few as 4 hours and as many as 48 hours depending on the amount used.  
> Higher doses may cause the user to see things that are not present, hear things that are not there, have delusions of grandeur and an inflated sense of importance, higher blood pressure and heart rate, breathing problems, raised body temperature and anxiety, panic, or extreme worry.


	10. Watch And See What Happens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *ALERT ALERT*
> 
> Mentions of depression and a suicide watch here.
> 
> (Srsly this has got to be v annoying by now but idgaf I am not going to be responsible for triggering someone alright)

It wasn't what I was expecting, but it makes sense, I suppose.

The voices that weren't there. The resurrection of the dead. Phil's split personality. The ghosts. The things that didn't quite make sense, didn't really ring true. The simple fact that everything scared the shit out of me.

There's only one thing that doesn't make sense.

How did two drugs I wouldn't ever even consider touching end up in my body?

"I don't understand," I murmur as the doctor unties my wrists and removes the strap from around my midsection. "How did I take them?" I stretch out a bit as he unties my ankles, suddenly aware of how stiff my body is.

Twelve hours.

Was that all it took?

"Lab results suggest that both drugs were ingested roughly fifteen minutes after the first drink," Doctor Collins says, checking a paper. "That would've been approximately twenty minutes before collapse."

"Collapse?" I ask. Phil flinches, covering the back of his hand. "What am I missing?"

"What's the last thing you remember?" PJ asks, looking up.

"I-" I try to think back, but everything is blurry before I 'woke' in the forest. "Nothing."

"We were talking," Chris begins. He says it like he's reciting a textbook from memory, and his voice is detached in a way I've never heard from him. "It was trivial- what book was better or something- and then someone shouted."

"Phil ran over," PJ adds, "and it was chaotic from there. You had fallen and hit your head on something. You were hardly breathing, and he kept mumbling and holding your hand and then you-" He swallows hard. "You screamed. Not just a cry of surprise- this was bloody murder."

Bloody murder. How appropriate.

"Paramedics got there," PJ continues, "and Phil was practically on hysterics. He got me and Chris pretty good, actually." He gestures to his nose. "After he calmed down, we came here. Haven't left since other than to talk to doctors and nurses."

"I turned around for one fucking second," Phil says suddenly, and I whip around, startled. "One second, Daniel!"

The intensity of his voice is strikingly similar to what I've grown far too used to, and it scares me, to say the least.

"You scared the shit out of me," he says, his voice going quiet. "What the hell were you thinking?"

"I didn't-" I begin, but no one seems to want to hear it.

"Our records indicate your currently on antidepressants," Doctor Collins says. I nod. "You're diagnosed with depression, then?" I nod again. "I do hate to be the one to say it, but we're putting you on a suicide watch, Daniel."

"What?" I exclaim. "No, no no no no no no. No. I'm fine, honest."

"Have you had suicidal ideation before?" The doctor says it like he's talking to a child, and my face burns as I nod. "Then we have to. It is possible this was an attempt to end your life." I ignore the last part- I know it's not true- and look at the others. They don't seem surprised.

They must have already known this was coming.

"Why a watch?" I ask.

"Many patients find the aftermath of their 'trips' to be panic inducing and may even experience flashbacks despite having not taken the drugs again," Doctor Collins explains. "This is what we call HPPD, and should you experience it, we do need to know- you should call the hospital and report it."

"What- what are the terms and conditions?" I ask, a sense of resignation in my voice.

"You are not to handle medications of any kind," the doctor reads. "Your antidepressants and other medications will be handed to you by your flatmate and he will ensure you're taking them as prescribed. Sharps- that is to say, knives, razors and the like- are to be handled only under direct supervision. You aren't to be left alone any longer than fifteen minutes, either. The watch will last fourteen days. At the end, your psychiatrist will perform a psychological evaluation, and if needed, extend the watch."

"If I disagree?" I ask. Doctor Collins sighs, pushing up his glasses.

"Should you refuse to abide by the terms set," he says, handing me a clipboard with a piece of paper and a pen, "you will be sent to a mental health facility until it is deemed safe. Should you break any of the terms set after you leave, your flatmate is at a legal obligation to call 999 and report it, and you will then be brought in and held until you can be transferred." I swallow hard, reading over the paper.

I don't like it.

"You may not like the terms and conditions set, but I assure you," Doctor Collins says, "you will dislike the mental hospitals far more. The short term hospitals can keep you for up to four weeks, and, if needed, a longer term can keep you for over a year. It isn't pretty."

"How does Phil have a legal obligation to report me?" I ask, signing the paper reluctantly. I hand it back.

"I signed an agreement," Phil says numbly. "Otherwise, they were going to send you right away. I couldn't let that happen, not with..." He doesn't finish, but he doesn't have to- the internet would have a fucking field day if I vanished for a month. Phil would be miserable for a day by himself, let alone a year.

And me? I wouldn't survive.

"Thank you for being such an agreeable patient, Daniel," the doctor says, standing. "A burse will be in shortly to discuss the details of your discharge." He leaves, and the room is silent.

"At least they're letting you go home," Chris says, smiling weakly. PJ gives a thumbs up, and I exhale sharply.

"If I fuck up?" I ask quietly. "If I take too long in the shower or pop a naproxen or shave?"

"Then I have to report it," Phil says, staring ahead, "or we both deal with the consequences and bear the wrath of the legal system."

"Fuck," I breathe.

There's no other word to describe what's running through my head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *The effects of a bad trip normally ease when the drug wears off.  
> However, it can persist for weeks or months in some users. These long-term side effects are called “Hallucinogen Persisting Perception Disorder," or "HPPD".  
> Such complications are rare, but can happen after using LSD just one time. Individuals who abuse LSD over a long period 1 or have a history of abusing multiple drugs may also be at greater risk of developing these conditions.  
> People who develop HPPD, also known as “flashbacks,” have repeated experiences with symptoms similar to an LSD trip even when they have not taken the drug again. These symptoms include hallucinations and other visual distortions.  
> Symptoms of HPPD can last from weeks to years before resolving on their own. In some cases, HPPD is severe, long-lasting, and has a significant negative effect on other aspects of a user’s life.


	11. There's A Storm You're Starting Now (Bonus)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *ALERT ALERT*  
> Non-consensual drug usage.
> 
> (I needed another 600 words again.)  
> (We're taking a throwback, back to that night.)

He was pretty.

Jason smiled unconsciously, licking his lips. Too bad the boy's boyfriend- or Jason thought he was; if not, he really needed to chill- wouldn't stop fluttering around like a goddamned hummingbird, keeping him away and occupied.

And then the boy set down his drink, turning away for a moment.

Was it still considered date rape if Jason wasn't on a date?

Well, probably, but he didn't exactly care.

The black haired boy giggled at something, and Jason slipped closer as he stepped away. The brown haired boy whispered something in his ear before walking away.

This was as good a time as any.

Jason reached into his pocket, pulling out a small vial. Maybe if he added just a little bit, he could trick the black haired boy into sleeping with him.

And then it all went wrong.

Someone hit his arm, and Jason dropped a couple too many drops of the drugs into his cup. He stepped back, panicked.

"Fuck," he muttered, stepping back quickly. He didn't want to be anywhere near when it was found out. He knew what that shit could do in high doses. He disappeared into the crowd, keeping an eye on the black haired boy as best as he could. The brown haired one returned, picking up the drink.

Holy fucking shit.

How could Jason have been so dumb? He was drugging the wrong person! He swallowed hard, trying to appear inconspicuous as he watched the brown haired boy take a long drink. Yes, Jason loved the thrill, the rush, but this was taking it a bit too far. He had no need for this boy to potentially suffer, for him to injest thst shit.

And now all he could do was wait.

~~~

And twenty minutes later, it happened.

Jason knew it would take a while, but he was still unprepared for when he started stumbling, started acting weird. The cry took up like a ancient primal chant, a war cry, in his ears, and Jason felt sick himself as he watched it all unfold.

It was all his fault, because he had no self control. How hard would it have been to find someone else, really? There were plenty of other good looking men- and women- around. The black haired one was certainly one of the prettiest, but he was taken, and he wasn't the only one worth trying for. Jason bit his lip.

All he could do was hope that the trip would be alright, and that no one would connect it to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. Didn't see that coming, but I just wrote what came to mind.
> 
> A reminder that this- what you're reading- is only the first draft. It's unedited, mostly. Edited to be grammatically correct (mostly) and to hit my goals, but not nitpicked. That'll come in the "Now What?" months of January and February. Inconsistencies and errors will be addressed.


	12. Sleepovers In The Lounge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No warnings. :)
> 
> Well, flashbacks. But otherwise nothing.
> 
> *edited and expanded on 17 November, 2017 (11:44 CST)*

It's after seven PM by the time we get back to the flat. Chris and PJ head to their respective flats, and, despite having been out for twelve straight hours, I'm exhausted. For obvious reasons, though, I'm reluctant to sleep. Phil watches me carefully, helping me up the stairs. He unlocks the front door, and I step inside. I don't take my eyes off of him, uneasy. He hasn't tried to hurt me yet, but that means nothing. In my dreams, he was always normal... until he wasn't.

I am unable to distinguish fact from fiction, and it keeps me on edge.

"You want to go to bed, I assume?" Phil asks. I shake my head, blinking rapidly. Phil knows me too well, though, and he forces a smile. "Go to sleep, Daniel. I'm not going anywhere."

"No, I'm fine," I protest as he guides me towards my room. He opens the door, and I step inside as he flips on my light. I freeze as my bed comes in focus, memories dive-bombing me like sparrows on crack.

"I'm going to make you feel good, Bear."

"Well, if I recall correctly, you were passed out on your bed, jeans falling off your arse like always, shirt halfway off, looking so, so beautiful- so submissive."

"Are you going to be a good little cockslut bottom- the whore we both know you are?"

"You act like you're not interested."

"Do you really think I can't hear you? The walls aren't that thick, and you're very... vocal. You think I can't hear you moaning my name, your stuttering voice whining and cursing? Naughty, really. I can only imagine the things you were doing to yourself to pull those noises from your pretty little lips."

"Do you get off thinking about me? Cum with a muffled scream of my name? Do you want me, Dan?"

I shake my head in an effort to physically free myself, and I step out of the room. Phil frowns.

"Are you alright?" he asks.

"I can't sleep in here," I gasp out.

"You can sleep in my room," Phil offers. I shake my head again. "You're okay. Promise." He grabs my duvet and exits the room. "Come on." He trots down the stairs, and I follow numbly. "We can have a sleepover in the lounge!" he exclaims excitedly.

"Sleepover-" I repeat. "Jesus Christ, we're men, goddamn it!"

"Shall I call the strippers?" he teases. "By strippers, I mean anime, of course." I force a smile, knowing the joke is meant for my benefit. Inappropriate and sexual jokes have never been Phil's metaphorical cup of tea.

"If you want," I say, forcing an edge of calm in my voice.

"Sleep," Phil whispers, throwing my duvet over me as I sit on the sofa.

"I don't-" I begin, but my body's physical needs win over my psychological needs, and I rest my head on a pillow. Phil sits on the other side of the couch, picking up a book, and slowly, the scene fades to black.


	13. Dreams Are Only Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nada. Zero. Zip. Zilch.

Phil throws down his book in frustration. He can't bloody focus on a goddamned thing, not with Dan asleep so close and yet so far.

It's not fair. It's absolutely not fucking fair.

Phil watches as Dan whimpers in his sleep, mumbling a slew of slurred words he can't understand. It's probably best that Phil can't grasp the choked words- they sound fearful, and if he had to guess...

Well, if Phil had to guess, he'd say Dan's dreaming of something horrific.

And if he would let himself go a little further, he would guess it's some nightmarish version of himself causing the panic.

"Shit," Phil breathes, pressing his palms against his closed eyes.

All this time, praying to a God he'd always doubted the existence of, just to have Dan back safe and sound. Saying that he didn't care what shape he was in- just that he was alive and beside Phil, as he should be.

Phil swallows nervously- he lied.

Oh, God, he lied.

Well, maybe not exactly. He would always rather have Dan alive and slightly disturbed than the alternative.

The alternative.

Phil can't help but think that it could have been that jusy as easily. The doctors speculated that, had he had anymore alcohol or drugs, he would have remained in a comotose state for the remainder of his life.

The remainder of his life.

Is it living if you're not experiencing?

Phil decides it's not. That's merely surviving- an animalistic drive left in every living creature.

Living is harder than surviving.

Phil sighs sadly, pulling his legs closer to his body and noticing how the monochrome duvet has twisted around Dan's ankles and midsection, how the younger boy's typically rosy face is pale and shining with sweat. He whimpers and moans, but not in the way Phil has ached to hear for eight years.

These are pained.

Phil draws in a deep breath, fighting the nausea building up in his stomach.

This could have all gone so terribly wrong.

While Phil is eternally grateful for the simple fact that Dan is alive, he can't help but think that it's almost worse seeing him in this state.

He thought he'd be able to help Dan, to keep him safe.

Phil almost laughs out loud.

He's not a hero. He's a villain in a story that Dan cannot escape, the one that haunts him and plagues his nightmares, all because Dan's greatest fear is that Phil will hurt him.

Phil thinks about that for a moment.

If Dan's greatest fear is that Phil will turn on him, will hurt him, then...

...what is Phil's greatest fear?


	14. There Is No Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *ALERT ALERT*
> 
> Mentions of suicide and being told to kill yourself. Just a fair warning. There's also abusive behaviour, but I feel like that goes without saying by this point.

It doesn't take long for darkness to evolve into grey light. Dan feels rooted to the spot, and Phil waves almost nonchalantly at him. He watches warily as Phil steps closer and runs his fingers down his arm. Dan can't stop him, can't speak.

"Did you think you'd seen the last of me, pretty boy?" Phil whispers in Dan's ear, running his tongue along his skin. Dan shudders, drawing in a shaky breath. "Did you believe all that bullshit about drugs and alcohol?" Dan swallows, and Phil shakes his head. "You won't even answer me. Someone should teach you some manners, Daniel." Suddenly he slaps the younger boy across the face. Dan yelps, stepping back as Phil shoves him against a wall. "Answer me when I ask you a question, bitch!"

"Y-yes!" he gasps out, unable to hide his trembling body. "Yes, I did!" Phil smirks.

"You always were gullible," he laughs, releasing Dan. His legs give out, and he collapses onto the floor, hiding his head beneath his arms. "Oh, Daniel's going to cry," Phil mocks, ruffling the younger boy's brown hair. He grabs and pulls, forcing Dan to look up. "You're pathetic," he spits. "Why don't you kill yourself?"

"I-I couldn't," Dan stammers, yanking back. Phil sits in front of him, chuckling softly.

"You've already proven that you don't hold your life in high regard," he points out.

"I always came back," Dan replies.

"So what's different now?" Phil asks, resting a hand on Dan's knee.

"It just is," he answers stubbornly, jerking his leg back at Phil's touch.

"Oh, beautiful," Phil breathes, leaning forward and kissing Dan's cheek. "It's not." The gesture is tender, almost loving, but it makes Dan feel almost physically ill. His stomach spasms and he shoves him away. His hands move right through Phil, though, and he gasps. "What'd I tell you?"

"No," Dan moans, covering his ears as a chorus takes up, Phil's body splitting into an infinite number of himself, each leering and bent on taking Dan apart.

"Look at him."

"Pathetic."

"You don't deserve to live."

"Someone wanted you dead enough to do this."

"No!" Dan screams, curling up. "It's not- I can't!"

"You like being in pain."

"That's the whole reason for this, why you let it continue."

"I hate you."

"Did you ever think I could actually like you?"

"I only stay because you'd go absolutely off the deep end."

"You're a freak."

Dan sobs uncontrollably, letting the tears wet his cheeks as the Phils continue mocking and taunting him.

"It's not true," he gasps. "It's not, it's not, it's not!"

The more he repeats the words, though, the less he believes them, and it won't take much longer for Phil to break him down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this is so short.  
> I'm working, honest.


	15. Red Wine Drowns My Sorrows (But Never Me)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *ALERT ALERT*
> 
> Unhealthy coping mechanisms. Like, very much so. I do not condone.

Dan's eyes open to see Phil staring ahead on the other side of the couch. His eyes are half-lidded, and he looks like he's about to nod off. Dan stays still, and within a couple minutes, he's snoring softly. He pusheshis duvet off his legs, exiting the lounge and entering the kitchen. He opens the liquor cabinet, pulling out a full bottle of red wine.

It's the one that gets him drunk the fastest, and he needs something- anything- to distract him from the memories.

Dan doesn't bother with a glass, instead opting to drink straight from the bottle. Somewhere it occurs him that alcohol poisoning is in fact a very real possibility, but that thought is quickly drowned. He downs a quarter of the bottle, feeling slightly light headed when he breaks for air. He catches his breath and leans against the counter before bringing the bottle back to his mouth and letting the alcohol burn his throat.

The bottle is gone far too soon, and still Phil sleeps.

 _Good_ , Dan thinks. _He can't hurt me while he's unconscious._

If that incredibly fine line between fact and fiction was blurred before, it's practically nonexistent now.

Dan marches- stumbles, more like- up to the hallway where their rooms sit across from each other. He doesn't go for his own, though. Instead, he throws open Phil's bedroom door, the brightness scathing. His green and blue duvet is tucked neatly along the sides, his dresser spotless, the bookshelves organised.

It looks far too normal for what has happened- nothing is normal anymore.

Something snaps within Dan, and he pulls books from the shelves, tossing them to the floor. He sweeps the stuffed animals, candles and various other trinkets from the dresser, hardly noticing when the candle shatters against the baseboard of the wall.

Destroyed possessions are a small price to pay compared to what he's been given.

"Dan?" The voice startes hin, and he turns, trying to connect it to it's owner. "Dan, stop- look at me." There's no one to look at, though- just a disembodied voice.

A disembodied voice.

Where is that familiar from?

Dan can't ponder it any longer than to think the thought because suddenly the world is exploding and

_it's_

_tearing_

_them_

_apart_

_with_

_it._


	16. Two, Four, Six, Eight (It's Getting Late, So Close Your Eyes And Sleep For Days)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *ALERT ALERT*
> 
> There is some slight discussion of self harm methods. Nothing actually happens, but it's mentioned.
> 
> (I managed to finish this last night and got permission to log on my computer.)

Phil is roused back into consciousness by the sound of something falling. He groans, covering his face with his arms. He can't have been asleep that long, and he feels even more tired than when he fell asleep.

"Dan?" he mumbles, turning to face the younger boy. Phil's blood turns to ice as he notices the duvet thrown over the edge of the couch, Dan nowhere in sight. "Dan!" Phil is fully awake now, and he stands, searching for him. The kitchen is in the same state as when they went to sleep.

Chairs, pushed in. Table, clear. Counters, clean. Wine bottle, emp-

Phil does a double take as he notices the empty red wine bottle on the counter, sitting on it's side. He knows he wasn't the one to leave it there, but the only other person is-

"Oh," Phil breathes, the sound choked. There's noise in the background and he's trying to focus and it's hell on his nerves. Slowly, the sound of shattering glass emerges from the din, and Phil's head snaps up from where he's rested it against the counter.

That's not good.

He runs towards his room, his suspicions and fears confirmed when he notices the half-open door. Phil slowly- as not to startle Dan- enters, gasping and covering his mouth at the sight of the wreckage.

"Fuck."

It's the only word Phil can form right now, despite not being a big fan of swearing. It's the only one capable of describing how he feels about the mess.

And he's not just talking about the mess Dan's made of his room.

The younger boy is clearly intoxicated- 'There's one mystery solved,' Phil thinks grimly- and obviously in a state of distress. He's mumbling and slurring words that Phil can't understand as he sweeps everything off Phil's dresser. Phil winces as his scented candle shatters, but he knows there are more important things in this room.

Specifically, Dan.

"Dan?" Phil says quietly. Dan jumps, startled, but he doesn't look in Phil's direction. Instead, he stumbles backwards a bit, sitting on Phil's bed as he tries to discern the source of his name. "Dan, stop it- look at me!" Phil begs as Dan collapses on shaky legs, picking up a shard of glass and brandishing it like a knife. It's clear he's in a fight or flight state of mind, and since he can't flee, he's going to fight. Phil doesn't make any movement.

He's absolutely fucking terrified.

Phil's been asked what his worst fear is a million times- hell, he even asked himself that when Dan was sleeping earlier! And he's always made a silly comment about horses, or the deep sea, or something else trivial. He's never allowed himself to really think about it because he knows it's something gut-wrenchingly soul-shattering.

And now he knows exactly what what real terror is.

His worst fear is that Dan will be taken away from him, in any fashion. Being separated from his best friend, partner, confidant, and soulmate is a fate Phil hasn't allowed himself to even consider, because it's not an possibility in his head.

Except that it's now a very tangible option.

There are five ways this can go, Phil figures out.

First, he stays still and nothing happens.

Second, he stays still and Dan slits his wrists.

Third, he can try to grab the glass and Dan stabs or cuts him.

Fourth, he grabs the glass and Dan injures himself in the confusion.

Fifth, he grabs the glass and Dan is too intoxicated to realise what's happening until afterwards.

It's just the luck of the draw.


	17. Blind Terror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don't know, man.
> 
> Uh, self harm and swearing and drunkenly attempted murder (?) and stuff. You know the drill by now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably gonna change this to third person at some point. Yeah.
> 
> Uh, I don't drink. Not only am I underage and all, but it smells disgusting.  
> My dad was/is an alcoholic and was very physically and emotionally abusive when he was like that. The only way I know drunk people to act is violently. So, sorry

Phil makes his choice.

He lunges for the glass, aiming to pull it away before Dan knows what happened.

That's not what happens.

Instead, Dan swings, and Phil feels a sharp stinging sensation over his cheek. He touches it carefully, and his hand comes away red.

"You-" Phil begins, but Dan's taken notice of him now, and his brown eyes are unfocused. Phil realises what's happening.

He's not seeing Phil properly.

He sees the monster who forced him to fight for his life.

That hurts Phil infinitely more than the cut on his face.

"Stay the hell away from me," Dan growls, his words slightly slurred. "I'll kill you."

"Daniel, I-" Phil tries to say, but Dan stabs at him and he scuttles backwards. "Dan! What the hell?" Phil gasps, staring at the glistening material. Dan snarls as Phil reaches for it again, and then Phil is underneath him, his legs pinned beneath Dan's knees.

"Fuck you!" Dan spits, holding Phil's wrists down in one restrictive grip.

"Dan, please!" Phil begs as Dan traces the skin of his neck with the glass shard. "Don't! I'm begging you! You don't want this, I know you!"

"Beg all you want, Lester, but I'm going to show the same amount of mercy you showed me," Dan growls, gripping Phil's wrists tightly. Phil whimpers loudly as the glass makes the first incision. He can feel the blood beading on his skin, the sting as his skin tears open at an agonising pace.

 _This isn't how it ends_ , Phil thinks, his breathing tight and uncomfortable for reasons that have nothing to do with Dan's weight on his chest.

_This can't be how it ends._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm putting this on hold for a little bit. I'll finish it, honest, but updates will be infrequent until Born To Die is complete. Then this story gets my full attention again.  
> iamsorryforbeinganarseholeandgivingthiscliffhangerimawfuliknow


	18. A Little Bit Of Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No warnings apply. :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The things I do for you guys. This might be my least favourite chapter I've ever written...

Phil has about five seconds left to live, he estimates. If he doesn't do something now, it's all over.

It's an act or die kind of moment.

_One._

He brings his head forward, his forehead connecting with Dan's nose.

_Two._

The younger boy jerks back, blood dripping down his face. Phil shoves him, kicking him away.

_Three._

He stands, spotting the glass shard on the floor, and brings his heel down on it, grinding it to pieces.

_Four._

He grabs a shirt off his floor and presses it to his neck, trying to stem the blood flow.

_Five._

He reaches for his phone and activates the panic button.

_Six._

Phil sways dizzily as he keeps an eye on Dan, but the younger boy doesn't seem to be paying him any attention. Dan's ears are covered and his breathing is ragged and staccato.

_Seven._

Phil's vision is going dark. The shirt is soaked.

The damage is worse than he'd thought.

_Eight._

He hears the sirens wail as he sinks to his knees, trying to stay alert. He blinks blearily, attempting to clear the spots that obscure his sight.

_Nine._

The last thing he remembers is seeing a patch of rainbow light from the window across his arm.

_Ten._

_"It's getting late / So close your eyes / Sleep for days." ~Milk And Cookies, Melanie Martinez_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...but it was the only way I could think of to get out of the situation. It was this or Phil died and I didn't think you guys wanted that.


	19. (Not So) Magical Mystery Ride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No warnings apply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm changing to third person. It's being done incrementally with previous chapters, so from here on it's third person.

Phil gasps, opening his eyes. His hand flies to his neck, but there's nothing. No blood, no damage, no cuts.

A dream.

He lets out a long breath, angry at himself, at Dan, at the person who causes this. It's not just affecting Dan anymore- his nightmares have spilled over into Phil's head.

Dan is lying on the floor, staring at the ceiling. He's been awake for a while, Phil is sure.

"Dan?" he calls. Dan jerks up into a sitting position, his eyes wide. He relaxes just slightly when he sees that it's only Phil.

"Yeah?" he asks, his words thick and slurred slightly. Phil frowns, sliding off the couch onto the floor.

Dan smells of alcohol.

Well, shit.

"You doing okay?" Phil asks quietly. Dan's normally clear eyes are glazed over, but he seems to be in a somewhat functional state.

Phil's really thankful for that, at least.

"Fine," Dan mumbles. "Couldn't sleep."

"Nightmares?" Phil questions. Dan nods, looking away. "Was it me?"

"No," Dan whispers, but Phil hears the way he hesitates. He's lying.

"You don't have to lie," Phil assures him. "I can handle it." Dan's eyes meet Phil's for a half a second.

"No, you can't," he mutters. "I can't handle it, you can't handle it. Neither one of us can."

"Dan," Phil pleads, but the younger boy shakes his head, getting more and more worked up.

"No!" he cries. "It's not fucking fair I'm suffering because of something that happened! I don't even remember it! It's not even just me, though- it's affecting you! I see it!"

"Dan, I'm fine," Phil lies. "Really."

"Right," Dan drawls, rolling his eyes. "That's why you were over there shouting my name in your sleep, yeah? Face it- we're both just fucked, Phil."

"It's not that simple," Phil argues, pinching the bridge of his nose. "It's really not."

"Then explain it," Dan begs, "because I don't understand any of it!"

"If I could, I would- oh, God, I would- but I can't," Phil whispers, his voice breaking, "and I'm sorry."

"What is wrong with me?" Dan asks quietly, tears falling down his face. "Really. I wouldn't ever try anything I even thought had the slightest chance of fucking up my head any more, and everyone's telling me that it's there, clear as day. You know me, Phil- you know me better than anyone else in the world. I wouldn't!"

"I know," Phil breathes, tracing his fingers over the carpet. "Believe me, I know." He takes a deep breath.

"That's why I'm going to figure it out, Daniel. I'm going to solve this mystery, even if it kills me.

"I'm going to end this nightmare."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did ya see that coming no you did not but Phil's a psychic remember that he dreams things that happen irl sometimes that being said let's let the drama unfold a bit more. ^-^


	20. The End of All Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: none

Silence is an odd thing.

It rips through your head. It fills your bones. It clings to your skin.

Loneliness aches.

It holds your hand. It yanks you down when you fight to stand. It stares at you from the mirror, daring you to live life without it.

Jason is no exception.

He rakes a hand through his hair as he sits on the ground, writing slowly.

He's been keeping an eye on that pair from the bar. He watched as paramedics transported the boy and his friends. Watched as the raven absolutely lost his shit. Listened carefully. Learned what he could.

So the boy was named Daniel Howell. An English YouTube and internet personality. Lives with his "best friend" Phil Lester, who's also in the same profession.

And it didn't go well.

Jason knows there's not a way to connect him to the crime. He made sure of it.

But that doesn't change anything. He still feels awful about it.

And he's not going to hold up under this much longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this was so short. I just... have no idea what to do with this work anymore.


	21. Question All You're Told (For Nothing Is As It Seems)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil starts asking around.
> 
> Warnings: none

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much editing is needed for this stupid story why did I ever think it was a good idea to post the first draft do you hear me crying in the background this was a terrible mistake an awful idea ohmygod

Phil is reluctant to leave Dan alone, but he does.

He asks questions.

Dangerous questions.

Phil needs answers, Dan needs answers, the author of this work needs answers, the readers need answers.

Basically, everyone needs answers and there are none to give.

Phil frowns. That was a weird thought- a  _really_ weird thought.

Oh, well.

Phil shakes his head in a physical attempt to clear his mind as he walks. His phone rings.

Louise.

Phil answers.

"Hey," he greets, stopping and leaning against a concrete building.

"Phil, what the hell did you do?" Louise asks.

"What?" Phil replies. "What are you talking about?"

"Your message," Louise explains. Phil sighs. "You said you needed to talk to me."

"I didn't do anything," Phil assures her. "Well, I mean... that's not what I'm talking about."

"Then elaborate," Louise requests, "because I'm lost."

"Not here," Phil replies quietly. "I'm going to text you an address. Meet me there, okay?"

"Phil, you're scaring me," Louise says. "What have you gotten yourself into?"

"I can't say," Phil whispers.

And he can't, because he truthfully doesn't know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops.  
> Sorry.  
> noiamnot.  
> iamneversorry.  
> Mwahaha.


	22. It's Not Paranoia If They're Out To Get You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still love the fact absolutely NO ONE has asked what Jason was writing two chapters back.
> 
> Like, hello? Tiny details, folks.  
> I purposely didn't say, but you're all being oblivious knuckleheads.
> 
> Kidding. I love you anyway.

"Phil, what the hell is going on?" Louise asks quietly.

Phil can't shake the feeling he's being watched. He keeps getting that sensation of a figure behind him, but every time he looks, there's no one there.

"Keep walking," he mutters. "The party, when Dan collapsed. Did you see anything suspicious?"

"What?" Louise asks, shaking her blonde hair out of her eyes. "Why?"

"Don't ask questions," Phil replies cryptically. "Just answer mine. I'll explain it all later, I promise, but for now, I need you to trust me and answer me."

"You're really scaring me," Louise tells him. "What am I meant to say? What are you looking for?"

"Don't ask questions," Phil repeats. Louise chews on her lip for a moment, but she finally nods.

"Okay, yeah," she admits. "I saw something. Someone was watching you and Dan the whole time. Dark haired man, maybe mid-twenties. Didn't recognise him, didn't say a word. I don't know. He came real close to where you two were, but I don't think he did anything."

"Do you know his name?" Phil pleads. "Anything about him?" Louise shakes her head.

"Sorry," she says. "Nothing. Disappeared as suddenly as he showed up. I don't think he was around when you called the paramedics, though." Phil stops suddenly. "What?"

"Is there a record of everyone who was there?" Phil asks, his eyes wide.

"Maybe," Louise answers slowly. "Usually is."

"I need to get ahold of that," Phil tells her. "I need you to help me get that list."

"Not until you explain what all this is about!" Louise tells him hotly. "Damn it, Phil! You're going to give me answers and stop all this cryptic bullshit if you want my help!"

"Fine!" Phil snaps. "I think someone drugged Dan and I'm going to figure it out if it kills me!"

"Nothing happened, Phil, and you should accept the fact that he made a bad choice and quit playing detective," Louise says. "I'm sure it's hard, and I'm sorry, but he made a bad choice and he needs to deal with the consequences."

"No, you don't know Dan like I do," Phil argues. "No one does. He wouldn't play with that shit."

"Maybe you don't know him as well as you think, then," Louise says simply. Phil scoffs, starting down the street again. "Where the hell are you going?"

"To find someone who actually cares about this issue!" Phil shouts. "Obviously, you don't!"

"I'm realistic, Phil!" Louise replies, jogging to catch up with him. "I'm sorry, but  _someone_ would have seen it if Dan had been drugged!"

"And someone would have noticed if he disappeared to do it, too!" Phil screams, turning towards her. "Does no one realise that? He was in someone's line of sight the whole night- mine, for most of it! There's no fucking way he could have done LSD and some weird version of PCP under my eye! Don't insult me like that! Don't fucking tell me that  _maybe I don't know him as well as I thought_ or whatever the hell you said! I know him damn well enough!"

"Phil, calm down," Louise says quietly.

"I will not!"

"Phil, I'm not kidding."

"No-"

"Shut up.  _Now._ "

"Wh-"

"There's someone watching us."


	23. Death's Gonna Come (And When It Does, Screw The Nerves)

Phil blinks as he stares at his hands.

 

Only minutes ago they were clean. Now, they're stained red.

 

How could everything have gone so wrong so quickly?

 

***

 

"Phil, there's someone following us."

 

The second Louise uttered those words, Phil knew they were both fucked.

 

How could they not be?

 

"Don't panic," Phil mumbled.

 

"Easy to say, harder to do," Louise replied, huffing.

 

"We know you're there, so come out," Phil called loudly. He turned, his heart pounding despite his steady voice. "Don't waste our time and we won't waste yours. Sound fair?"

 

That's when all hell broke loose.

 

***

 

Louise lets out a broken sob, her arms around Phil's shoulders as she cries. He whispers nonsensical reassurances in her ear as the sirens draw nearer.

 

"It's okay," he murmurs.

 

It's a lie, though. It's not, and it will never be again.

 

***

 

BANG!

 

Phil reacted before he registered what he heard.

 

Check.

 

He launched himself at Louise, tackling her to the ground as the brick exploded into dust, coating their shoulders.

 

"Motherfu-" Louise began, but Phil shushed her.

 

"This isn't good," he whispered. Louise gave him a look that clearly communicated, 'No shit, Sherlock.'

 

"You're dead, Lester."

 

Phil looked up, his forehead coming in contact with the cold metal barrel of a gun.

 

And checkmate.

 

***

 

Dan is an anxious ball of nervous energy, pacing around the flat.

 

He can't shake the feeling something awful is coming. He can't tell what's wrong, or why it is, but he knows something terrible is coming for him and for-

 

"Knock, knock."

 

Dan gasps aloud, grabbing his phone.

 

"Don't bother."

 

The phone clatters to the table.

 

"He's probably already dead."

 

Dan turns, meeting a pair of blue eyes.

 

"You." The word escapes Dan's mouth before he realises why he recognises this man. "I know you."

 

"I doubt it," the man replies, closing the front door. He smirks. "Jason Brighton, at your service."

 

"Why-" Dan steps back, panic welling up inside him. Jason steps close, shoving Dan against the wall. "Get off of me!" Dan shouts, swinging at the man. Jason snarls, grabbing Dan's wrist and forcing him to the floor before pinning him there.

 

"Don't fight," he soothes, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small bag. "You'll only make it worse for yourself."

 

"No!" Dan screams, his wide eyes landing on the pills. "You've already fucked me up enou-"

 

The next thing Dan is aware of is the sickening taste of a pill melting on his tongue and a hand over his mouth keeping him from spitting.

 

"Please!" Dan begs, feeling helpless as he feels his eyelids begin to close. "I don't-"

 

"Close your eyes and sleep," Jason tells him softly, standing up. Dan groans, his head falling to the side. As he gives in to the drug's effects, Jason says five words that send shivers down his spine.

 

"You've got to die sometime."

 

***

 

"Any parting remarks?"

 

Phil almost shook his head.

 

"Yes,” he whispered.

 

"Then get on with it."

 

Phil had no idea, though. Of all the ways to die, this was never the one he saw himself taking.

 

"Why are you doing this?" he asked quietly. "What have I done?"

 

"You're nosy, Lester." Phil nodded. He knew that already. He'd always known that. "You're dangerously close to things you shouldn't know." Phil nodded again. "That's why you need to shut up."

 

The metal disappeared, and Phil opened his eyes.

 

A man, certainly, dressed in all black. Phil couldn't see his face.

 

"Next time, you won't be so lucky, and even now, your friend might not be."

 

That was all Phil needed to hear.

 

"What the hell did you do to Dan?" he demanded, standing up. The man chuckled darkly.

 

"Nothing," he answered. "I've done nothing."

 

"You better fucking tell me!" Phil screamed, stepping closer.

 

He'd come too far, sacrificed too much, to have this all end now.

 

"You-"

 

BANG!

 

Phil stepped back in shock, and Louise screamed as the man suddenly fired his gun, but it wasn't directed towards either of them.

 

Instead, they watched as the man collapsed, blood pooling on the pavement from a hole in his head.

 

"No, no no no no," Louise moaned. "This isn't real; this can't be happening."

 

"Too late," Phil mumbled. "We're too far in, now."

 

***

 

Jason bites his lip as he surveys his handiwork.

 

Dan is lying on the ground, unconscious. His phone is off, on the table where he left it, and by his right hand is a bottle of pills.

 

A suicide note is grasped loosely in his left.

 

Game over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're nearing the end, but this isn't it yet. Don't worry!


	24. Stardust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end is here, and no one was ready.

**_Three weeks later..._ **

Phil paces back and forth in front of the mirror, feeling sick.

_This isn't fair. This is so wrong, so fucking wrong._

"Phil, honey?" A knock on the bathroom door startles Phil. "Are you alright?"

"Y-yeah," he stammers.

_Absolutely not._

"We need to leave soon," his mother says gently.

"I'll be out in a minute," Phil assures her, leaning against the counter.

Footsteps recede into the distance, and Phil sighs. He runs a hand through his hair, looking over his reflection carefully. The black suit fits him well, and Phil's never worn it, but it was never meant for _this_.

It was meant to be worn down an aisle, to be worn on the best day of his life.

It wasn't meant to be worn to a funeral, on his worst.

_You look like a vampire. Careful, or Buffy might get you._

Phil can hear Dan's teasing voice even now. He smiles sadly, exiting the bathroom.

The car ride is silent. How do you console your youngest son when he's lost his best friend to death for the second time?

 _You were supposed to be forever._ We _were supposed to be forever._

Forever can be shorter than you think, though.

***

Phil stays in the corner the entire time. He wants nothing to do with these well-meaning-but-insulting-all-the-same people who barely know his name. Condolences are good and well but they've worn out their welcome with Phil.

Empty words won't bring Dan back.

Phil is still in shock, still in denial. Grief is funny like that. It just isn't real to him yet.

It may not ever be, if it wasn't for the casket.

Phil can see the opened lid from here, though the contents are hidden by the heads of people who's names he's already forgotten. 

He doesn't want to see.

Phil's stomach twists at the mere thought, so he looks away.

He can count on one hand the people he knows, Dan's parents and brother- though he's only met the latter once or twice- among them. There's his own family, of course, but he's grown tired of the constant apologies and whatnot.

He's not glass, after all, and Phil has never appreciated being treated like it.

Louise is here as well, Phil finds. She runs up to him, hugging him tightly and crying. Phil hugs her back, but neither one of them says a word.

_What is there to say?_

As it turns out, nothing.

Oh, Phil gives a short eulogy, of course, but it's hollow and empty. He has no desire to speak of the relationship between him and Dan to these people who couldn't care less.

He still doesn't look behind him. Easier to pretend Dan might walk through the door at any moment than to confirm what he already knows.

Still, Phil can't avoid the truth forever.

The funeral follows that of some religious denomination that Phil can't recall. It makes him sick. Dan would call it bullshit and go off on a rant about how God doesn't exist and if He does, He ought to explain Himself.

Phil's lips twitch into something reminiscent of a smile.

_You're far too stubborn to die. We both know that. You've been to hell and back; is your brilliant mind finally what killed you?_

Phil knows the truth deep down, but he buries it further.

_You're next, you know. You dug too deep and learned far too much for your own good. You're a threat; therefore you must be eliminated._

***

Phil shatters entirely upon the sight of Dan's body.

He can't breathe; this can't be real.

Unfortunately, it is, though. Dan is really gone.

His eyes are closed, never to open again. His dark curls are too perfect, done flawlessly in a way that would have him scoffing. His pale face is plasticised, and it's Dan but it's so wrong all at once.

Oh, God. It's so fucking wrong.

_You asked what your worst fears were, Phil. Here they are. Now you know._

_Knowledge is dangerous._

***

Phil tosses a handful of dirt down over the casket automatically, not really paying attention. Physically, Phil is here, at Dan's last resting place. Mentally, he's somewhere between when they met and now.

How stupid is it, this whole thing? Funerals, life, death... it's all so meaningless and stupid.

_What's the point in living if you're just going to die anyway?_

***

Phil practically dissolves over the next week, mentally and physically.

He stays up north, with his family. He can't bear to be in the London flat, not without Dan. He can't even call it home, because it's not the location that made it so, or even that he lived there.

No, what made it home was _Dan_.

Kathryn, to her credit- and Phil has to give it to her- keeps him alive. She makes him eat at least something daily, gently encouraging him to keep hydrated. She doesn't ask for much else, so Phil figures it's the least he can do.

It's not like it's been much easier for her, this whole thing. After all, Dan _was_ the third son she never had. He was there all the time when they were younger; Phil's family practically adopted him, unofficially.

Phil just can't understand how things break apart so easily. 

_You're gone, but the world hasn't ended. Nothing has changed. This isn't how it's supposed to be. Everything should be desaturated and grey. The world should've stopped spinning._

_Yet it's all the same, like you never mattered_.

***

It's a chilly Saturday morning that finds Phil standing atop a building, just thinking.

His thoughts run faster than the cars on the street many feet below him, but he doesn't much mind.

Jumping does occur to him as a solution, of course, but never as one he takes with any sense of seriousness. He could never do that, especially so soon after-

_I wish you were here. You were supposed to be my happily ever after. I never even got my chance to risk saying I love you._

***

_Daniel-_

_I like to think you can see me writing this. Maybe you're in heaven, maybe hell, maybe you're non-existent. Who knows? The point is, you're not fucking here and you should be._

_A suicide? Honestly, that's a bit cliche, don't you think? And while I know it wasn't you, not really, it still... hurts, I guess? You know what I'm saying?_

_I miss you so so so badly. You were meant to be ~~mine~~ my friend, forever. You were supposed to be my best friend, until time itself ended. We were supposed to last forever._

_I won't take my own life, Daniel. I swear that. I just... shit, I miss you. You'd know what to say right now. Isn't that funny? You'd know exactly what to say, how to comfort me through your own death._

_But you can't, 'cause you're fucking dead._

_Which is stupid! So many people at that funeral, so many people ask around the world... they all have it wrong! They all believe the lies, and I can't correct them; I can't say a goddamn thing, Dan. It may be stupid, but I'm afraid._

_I'm afraid that the guy who got you will kill me, too. I'm afraid he'll kill my family, your family, our friends._

_More than that, I'm afraid to die._

_And maybe that's ridiculous. Death is inevitable, but I'm so afraid of it all the same. There was this whole long eternity before I existed, and yet I'm terrified at the thought of returning to nothing._

_Memories fade and so do people._

_Time will move on, heal old wounds. People will stop grieving and they'll continue living. They'll forget, as old memories are replaced with new experiences._

_I don't ever want to forget you._

_We met by chance, Daniel. Did you think about that as much as I did? I thought about it a lot. All of time and space and you and I somehow ended up together! How weird is that? Surely that's nothing short of a miracle._

_If I'd ended up with a different box of cereal, I could've never gotten a camera and made that channel. If your taste in videos had been slightly different you could've never ended up with me in your recommendations. Imagine if I'd never replied to your comments and started talking to you!_

_~~Ugh, that makes me feel like Alternate!Phil is a bit of an asshole, not replying to people.~~ _

_God, I never... Dan, I have so many things I wanted to say. Do you have any idea? I wanted to share everything with you. Everything! And I'll never get to, now._

_I never got to say I love you. I mean that full homo. I said I love you platonically a lot._

_~~Ugh, Phil, you're fucking this up.~~ _

_Right, I guess. I wanted to love you, Dan. And I did. I really did._

_No. I do._

_I do, Daniel. I love you. I love you so much. It sucks I never got to tell you, but dammit, I'm saying it now!_

_I wanted to love you. I wanted to give you everything. I wanted to give you my whole heart and soul and just spend my life with you, no matter the cost._

_I guess I got my wish, in some fucked up way._

_I gave you everything I could. I'm sorry it wasn't enough, that I couldn't save you. I really am._

_You know what, though?_

_I wouldn't trade it for the world._

_You are my sun, my moon, my stars. I will look at the night sky every day and think of you and all you did. All you did not only for me, but for the world._

~~_Ew, that's cheesy._ ~~

_Let me make it a little worse._

_I love you, Bear. Now and always._

_~Phil :)_

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry. This hurt to write, truthfully.

**Author's Note:**

> Was that a weak as hell ending? Yes.  
> Am I proud of it? Not really.
> 
> However, this story needed a conclusion, and I backed myself into done weird corners. So... I'm sorry. I'm very sorry.
> 
> Better quality angst with a plot is coming, I promise.
> 
> Socials ~
> 
> Instagram: cosmologicaldan  
> Twitter: cosmologicaldan


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